


Wait It Out

by Path



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Mobsterswitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dead-Eyed Detective knows he's only got so long before Pernicious Innovator has to stop holding him hostage in his attic. But he's so close to understanding him. He just has to hold out a little longer...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Twisted Tea Party](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/4836) by liz-of-all-trades. 



> Inspired by Liz and Dread, and of course by Spike's Mobsterswitch AU

You drift into consciousness and wash up on its shores like a castaway. You barely remember what it feels like; of late your dreams have been so very vivid, your time asleep lasting a confusing lifetime. You wait until you feel you can open your eyes without being beset by dizziness. You open them, and you take your first breath.

You cannot make it seem less than desperate. It almost seizes in your chest. It does not take long to forget what air feels like. Your eyes tear involuntarily. A few more breaths shudder in and out of your chest, and you hang your head and wait to regain control of your body.

"I'm sorry," comes a soft voice in your ear. You do not turn to look. You focus on where your limbs are. Hands are behind the chair, enveloped in something that does not allow much movement. It seems to be bonded to the chair somehow. It's not rope or handcuffs, you know. Legs take longer. When you open your eyes again you're staring at them, so you know they're both present, but you can't feel them, and you take a minute just to realize your ankles are adhered to the chair with a similar (compound?) as your wrists.

You hope, in your daze, that it doesn't stain your suit.

Your captor slips around in front of you, a wisp blown in by the wind. "My apologies, Detective," he says. His expression is wistful, apologetic, honest. "Thirteen seconds under current, too long." He kneels in front of you and reaches for your throat. You are not yet fully awake, you feel, and you react belatedly and instinctively. You pull away.

You wish instantly that you hadn't done that. A frown crosses his face. "If you please," he says crossly, "I would like to remove the nodes. Unless of course you want me to try again. Five seconds should be more than enough at this point."

You calm yourself inwardly and force yourself to take regular breaths. Your shirt is open at the collar, several buttons loose and grating against your sense of decorum. Your tie hangs loose around your sternum. His fingers slip past your shirt and peel something from above your heart, something at the base of your neck. His fingers dwell on your skin.

He pulls out something with wires and patches of medical tape. "Lovely," says Pernicious Innovator, evil genius and scourge of the city you strive to protect. "I knew we could be reasonable about it."


	2. Chapter 2

He serves you tea, an excellent Assam you wish fervently you could enjoy under different circumstances. He also has biscuits with blueberry jam, but something about the vivid violet of the spread makes you feel sick, and you avoid them, manoeuvring with every social grace you used to climb to Detective in the first place.

You need to. He takes insult poorly. You have been profiling him as you worked, and you find it's coming in handy.

Delicate, you think. Poor health as a child. Picked on, shoved in lockers. Science as a respite, something he was good at in the face of many perceived failures. Highly imaginative; vivid life inside his own head. Fantasies and fairy tales a staple to escape with.

"Another glass?" he asks dreamily, sitting across from you. His dark hair is wild in a cloud around his head, and you get the uncomfortable feeling that it is drifting in water or a wind you can't feel. The table is crowded, plates and cups sitting among twisting steel puzzle rings, coffee-stained crosswords, piles of loose wire bundled together into little nervous systems. Pads of paper covered in odd designs and blueprints are scattered across the room.

"Thank you, I will," you say. Your voice is rough but polite, and you school yourself to discipline. He has freed one arm, leaving the other bound behind you. Your cuff is faintly, faintly purple, like white seen in violet light. You hold out your teacup, a delicate thing with a dainty handle, china light like a child's cup. He pours, you thank him graciously. Need for reassurance, relies on others' confidence to do the right thing. Threatens to hurt himself and others if his little needs aren't met. Has little. Needs little. Has never gotten it.

The tea is delicious, but your head throbs and makes you nauseous. You wonder how long you've been here.


	3. Chapter 3

There is a collar around your neck and it constricts your throat. You are learning it while Innovator, perched on the edge of his chair across the low table from you, watches with deceptively innocent curiosity.

So far, you have learned that when you swallow or try to speak above a low conversational tone, it cinches. It doesn't seem to like movement, either, or at least not sharp motions. After a few tests, it wraps around your throat like an iron band and you struggle to breathe. You can. It is merely not quite enough.

"What do you think, Detective?" asks Innovator, eyes gleaming.

You marshal your air supply. "Have you- had the chance to- try it- on either of your- associates yet?" you ask haltingly, pausing for breath between each short phrase.

Innovator's sudden smile stretches across his face, and he slips to your side to flick the collar open. "What a delightful thought," he says, toying with the thing in his hands. You focus on breathing regularly, because the sudden intake of air will go to your head otherwise. You are learning ever-new ways to cope with strangulation. Power play, and an easy one. He likes games where he seems to exert no effort, where his opponent is entirely on his turf and must struggle to act normally. Likely a reflection of his own life, struggling to act normal while others watch and laugh.

"I do not think Delinquent would learn quite as quickly as you," he says musingly. "But the Leader...."

He wanders out of the room, muttering to himself. You hang your head and your hair dangles loose and sweaty past your eyes. You are slowly coming apart.

But in your mind, he is slowly coming together.


	4. Chapter 4

Your next tea party is interrupted by a bang on the front door. Innovator curses under his breath, fumbles the scones back to the table, and slaps a gag into your mouth before running, all off-balance long limbs, closing and locking the door behind him. From what you've seen of it, you guess this is the attic of an old house, and the doors all lock with skeleton keys. He carries a ring of them around one skinny wrist, and you are not eager to learn what they double as.

He forgot to bind your other hand.

You leap into action. You can lean just enough forward to grab the butter knife. You try to plunge it into the stuff coating your ankles, but as soon as you do, the mass turns rigid and the knife glances off. Shit, shit, of course. You should have known from the collar. Built-in punishment for fighting back, needs to establish himself as the master with as little effort as possible. You scour the room for another option.

Below, there are voices, deep but audible.

"Afternoon, Innovator. Spare a minute?"

"N-not really," your captor replies. "Very busy. Inventing."

You can practically hear the smile on the other's face. You know the grin. You see it drawn in chalk on dark buildings, curved like a laurel wreath; you see it on wanted posters. You may never have personally run into Peccant Scofflaw, but you know him easily enough. His voice is low and resonant in Innovator's cold house.

"Wouldn't want to be a bother," he says easily. "Just had a little problem." The front door closes. "And since you're the brains of our operation, I just wondered if maybe you could give me a hand with it." Scofflaw is in the house. You are trapped in a house with two of the three Twilight Scoundrels.

The gag digs into the sides of your mouth. Wait, you think, a gag- and then you let the conversation fill in the rest of your thought.

"Y....es," says Innovator. You think he's fiddling with something.

"I'll be blunt. Blunt's good. Got lawmen coming down on me from every side, PI. Green badges watching my places. The Company's digging up whatever they can. I even saw Lady S out on the scene, talking with Commissioner Scratch. In public. Pigs fly, next."

"Oh," says Innovator. "That's... that's unfortunate."

"Unfortunate," says Peccant Scofflaw, "ain't gonna cover it. This is turning into war. In a few hours I bet they'll be searching. Just need a warrant, and my pay-offs ain't gonna cover my ass when there's a lawman on the line."

"A... what?" asks Innovator.

"Scout's coming down on me hard, PI. Missing the boss, you see. 'Where's Dead-eyed Detective?' they're all saying. He's missing. Gone. Struggle. Dead?"

"S-surely not," Innovator mumbles. "The Detective is- is a competent man."

"And that's what I thought, too. So I figured, it'd take a real competent man to keep him down. That's logic. Wouldn't you think?"

There is a long pause, but you don't need it to think. He already told you everything you needed to know, him and his boss. He slapped the gag on you because nobody else knows you're here. It was to keep you from making sounds so his own boss wouldn't find out he was keeping you. This isn't a job on the Twilight Scoundrels' say-so. This is a personal thing. He'll be in shit if Scofflaw catches him. And they're coming for you. You don't know how Scout managed the presence of mind to motivate the Company but apparently he stepped up, and he must have pulled some strings (or rather, cashed in some threats) with the Captain to get the MCPD in on this if Felt teams are starting to make life hell for Scofflaw's Scoundrels. They're on the way. They'll get you out.

But Innovator already knows it. He knows about being cornered and he won't plan on it again. He might have taken a liking to you but that won't hold up in the face of his leader's fury or the thought of real jail time. He's going to cut and run, you think. And you're the one that'll be getting cut.

"Yyyyes," hedges Innovator. "Unless he's just keeping his head down. For awhile. On a case?"

"Well, I'd better hope so, for his sake," says Scofflaw. His voice is loaded. He might not know you're here, but he's policing the ranks just as thoroughly as you do. He suspects. That's going to be enough. "Because lawmen, they don't take this kind of thing well. Comes down to it, if Dead-eyed Detective ain't keeping his own head down, it'd better be off his shoulders, because that kind of man, they nurse grudges. They wait. They plan. They make life hell for the guys who wrecked it up for them. So between you and me," and there's a sharp alarmed yelp from Pernicious Innovator, "if I had Dead-eyed Detective locked up somewhere, having a bit of fun and messing him around, I'd take this time to get it over with before the green badges find him. Because if he's dead, green badges move on with business. No love lost between them and the Meddlesome Company. Deal with three agents that don't even have full rank in the force? We can do that."

"You- you want me to kill him?" The words shake their way out of Innovator. He sounds spooked.

You can hear the fury in Scofflaw's voice evaporate instantly. The smile is back. You can hear it. "Now, why would you think that?" he asks, low voice sweet. "It's not like you've got Dead-eyed Detective locked up in your attic or nothing. I just wanted a bit of help figuring out what I'd do if I did. No need to go getting yourself involved if you're staying out of trouble just fine on your own. People in trouble... they gotta solve their own problems. Anyhow," and the front door opens with an audible whine, "I'll see you round, PI. You know. If the Felt don't lock me up first for something I ain't done for once."

The door closes. You eye the room with alarm. Your time is limited; he'll slap a device on you and you'll be out before you have a chance to fight back, not that your butter knife will do much good. It might even be mostly painless. Just a little before you black out, and then vivid dreams until nothing at all. Wait. A device...

You flick the knife into the tips of your fingers, reach out across the table and slide a pile of wires along it until you can reach them. There are footfalls coming up the steps. Device in lap under loose shirt, knife on table, wrangle gag off and pick up teacup-


	5. Chapter 5

Pernicious Innovator eyes you cautiously from across the room. "Hm. Gag missing. I wish you had not done that, Detective."

You smile wearily at him. "My tea was getting cold. I wouldn't want to waste it, when it is so excellently brewed."

He smiles wistfully. It lasts a second before a twisted upset expression crosses his face and mars it. "That's so kind of you," he says, and he chokes a little.

You put down the teacup. "Is anything wrong?" you ask.

Innovator sits down heavily, and picks up a bundle of wires from the table. You fold your hand in your lap and expend all your effort on looking guileless. "No," he says, lying. "Everything's fine." His fingers, long and dark, toy with the wires.

You look up at him. He's lanky and awkward, uncomfortable in his own body. And he's horribly brilliant. And he is upset. You wait for him to meet your eyes. "I," you say, then pause, wrangling words and the emotions to place behind them, "I think I... enjoyed myself," you say, and then pause again, as if uncertain how to proceed.

His eyes, large and dark like a wounded animal's, meet yours. "Um," he says nervously. "That is. Very kind. Of you."  
He drifts towards you, faintly frowning, not entirely understanding. You crane your head up, and raise your free hand. Everything is very quiet. He looks at your hand, open and empty, as you extend it. Then, looking some combination of miserable and blissful, he inclines his head into your hand.

Beneath your fingers are sharp cheekbones, skin the colour of charcoal and long dark lashes, almost feminine. His lips tremble a little. Afraid. Afraid of closeness knowing he'll be pushed away and judged. Reassure him, confident in your actions, or appear like him, a sympathetic source. Either you suspect will yield results. You just wish you had more time.

He closes his eyes, leaning into your hand. You pull him a little closer, then move your hand behind his head, cradling at the base of his neck. "Do you think we could-" you ask, lending your voice a little of his nerves, the impression of fear, and then the rest of the sentence is moot because Pernicious Innovator has his mouth on yours, thin lips grasping yours. He has fallen to his knees, and his body leans into you.

Maybe you can get him to free you after all, you think. You are rather ashamed with yourself at how long it took you to stop thinking of the feeling of him against you. But then, from outside, sirens passing, and Innovator jumps backwards and eyes the window in fear.

Then he looks at you, and looks to the table full of gadgets, and you know you lost your chance.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice soft and unhappy. He picks up something with a pair of nasty-looking steel prongs and a pair of wires with clamps.

"No," you say, "I'm sorry." Then you grab the nodes from under your shirt and slap them on the open v at the front of his shirt, and his body convulses. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and he's out, collapsing in a jerky pile on the floor. You grab the nodes before he's out of your reach, and apply them immediately to the stuff around your ankles, which turns to a liquid while under the electrical current and splashes to the floor, where it resolidifies.

The other ankle, then you can brace yourself the right way to get behind your back and melt the stuff around your other hand. You throw the gadget across the room, slip the keyring off Innovator's wrist, and make a beeline for the door. Or rather, you would, but your limbs are a little numb from the stuff, and a little forgetful about how to walk. You make a drunken beeline for the door and open it, then look down at your captor twitching on the floor.

Feeling odd and dreamy, you grab the closest pad of paper. Your handwriting is no less wobbly than your legs, but you manage. You prop it against the teapot and flee.


	6. Chapter 6

You do not have an easy time convincing the police that you're getting back from a bad job, but you do all the same. Scout is unimpressed and disbelieving, but you tell him if he wants his job, he can shut up about it. Brawler makes you tea, and it is mediocre at best.

You shower for what feels like eternity, and you throw out your suit, still faintly purple and luminescent around the cuffs. And when you close your eyes at night, your mind is full of violet sparks, dreamy, wistful geniuses, and exquisite black pain. And you wait.


	7. Chapter 7

Your name is Pernicious Innovator, and you have few treasured possessions. You keep them in a box beneath a floorboard under the carpet under your bed. You have just added a new piece to the collection.

"My dear Innovator," says the letter, "It was a pleasure to come 'round for tea. Please do notify me the next time you plan a gathering, no matter how small. I will look forward to your company and, naturally, your excellent taste in tea.

Yours,

D.D."

You read it over and over, and you understand it no better than you did the first time. After the seventy-first, you begin to pen an invitation.


End file.
